#cod ww2

Eve sits with her legs curled up underneath her, Luna's fluffy head resting in her lap, the rest of the dog's body sprawled out on the rest of the couch. With one hand, Eve lazily digs her fingers into the thick fur around Luna's neck, and with her other hand, she holds a novel up, her elbow resting on the arm of the couch. The radio is crackling softly from the other side of the room, Mildred Bailey's soft voice the perfect filler for the quiet evening.

In the kitchen comes the faint sounds of Robbie muttering to himself, the muffled clunks and thuds of him gathering what he needs for dinner. The weather's starting to tumble over into the cool winter temperatures they've been waiting for, and it had been easy to agree on soup. Even just the thought of the thick, creamy, cheesy potato soup has her stomach rumbling. She always believed that her mother had a solid recipe, but she and Robbie have perfected a mix of both of their mothers' recipes, and she's been daydreaming about it ever since they got a taste of colder weather incoming a few weeks prior.

Humming along to the music, Eve flips to the next page in her book. A series of quiet thuds sound from the kitchen — probably the potatoes — and then comes the familiar rhythm of the knife hitting the cutting board as Robbie begins prepping all the different ingredients. Luna sighs and adjusts her head slightly, eyes closed with content, and Eve takes a moment to smile down at the German Shepherd.

The knife clatters to the cutting board. There's a sharp hiss of pain, followed immediately by a faint, "Shit!", and Eve's on her feet before the curse ends. Luna jumps out of the way with a surprised huff, dodging Eve's book as it falls to the floor. Neither the dog nor the book register as Eve rushes to the kitchen, her heart leaping up into her throat.

"Robbie?" Her voice pitches up with panic and worry. Her hand catches on the doorframe as she slings herself into the kitchen, eyes already darting around for Robbie, terrified about what she's going to find.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

Robbie's standing in front of the sink, the faucet on as he holds his left hand under the running water. He looks up at Eve's frenzied voice, a strained smile on his face, but all Eve can focus on is the bright red gushing from his finger, turning pink in the water.

"Hey, Evie, I'm okay—"

"You're bleeding—"

Eve looks absolutely stunning.

She also looks as if she's standing on hot coals.

For the past hour, all Robbie has wanted to do is pull her aside and tell her to stop worrying and fidgeting. He knows exactly what's going on in that head of hers, and he wants to put a stop it it, ideally with a kiss, but he'll take what he can get. The problem is that everyone's rushing around to get ready for this wedding, and he hasn't found a good time to make a break for it. Whenever he has a free moment, Eve's being whisked away to help with her bridesmaid duties. The second that Eve can breathe, Robbie finds himself helping her family with something.

If he doesn't find a chance to talk to her before the ceremony, her nerves will only get worse, even if the attention won't be on her. The fact that she'll still be up in the front with Marge, in front of everyone, will be enough. He just needs to pull her for a few minutes, tell her how absolutely beautiful she looks and to stop fidgeting, and he's certain she'll be much calmer.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, there she goes again."

Robbie looks up from where he's crouched, straightening Lee's tie for the tenth time today. He knows the boy doesn't mean to mess with it, but it's only his second time ever wearing a tie. When Robbie was his age, he was probably just as bad. Still, he can't help the exasperated huff that leaves his lips as he gives it one last tug, turning to see what Eve's mom is talking about.

"She gets it from you," Eve's dad grumbles back, leaning down to scratch behind Luna's ears.

"She's going to wrinkle her dress—"

Ah, Eve. It takes less than a second to find the redhead, and exasperated fondness has a sigh slipping out once he does. She's across the hall from them, fiddling with her dress again, bunching the light pink fabric of the skirt in her hands. While she's never said anything out in public, in the quiet of their little apartment she had made her feelings very clear to him about the choice of pink as a bridesmaids dress. Even the small pumps she's wearing are pink — what was the word she used? Cliche?

"Robert."

Robbie snaps up straight in an instant, taking a step closer to Eve's mom. "Yes?" His eyes dart around the older woman first, looking for something to help her with, before finally landing on her with a questioning look.

"Go and talk some sense into my daughter before she strangles her dress to death," her mother says, waving a hand in Eve's direction. A smile starts to stretch across Robbie's lips, but he still hesitates.

"Are you sure you don't need help with anything else—?"

"You've been staring at her more than you've been helping, anyway," Eve's father says, standing and stretching out his back with a low groan. Robbie's not exactly sure if he should be offended or not. Despite living here for several months now, Eve only introduced the two of them a little over a month ago, and he isn't quite sure where they stand.

"Mathew," Eve's mom scolds, swatting at his arm as she scowls at her husband. "He's helping more than you, be nice—"

Eve is so goddamn tired.

It's a bone deep exhaustion, her feet dragging and her shoulders sagging. Her eyelids weigh three tons each, and Eve just wants to drop down and curl up right where she is. She probably shouldn't have agreed to help out in the medical tent, but they looked overwhelmed and she has the experience and know-how. It would be selfish if she didn't help, even if she had just come back from a mind-numbingly boring patrol that lasted way too long. It's not just the physical strain, though. No, Eve wanted her transfer for a reason. It's only been a few hours — well, maybe more than a few — and Eve's already had too many men bleed out with her hands shoved in their guts, too many boys scrambling for her and pleading for their moms, too many people choking and spasming and crying and screaming…

Eve is so, so tired.

She doesn't like the thick fog that descends on her as she works, and she really doesn't like how it slots into place like she's never left the nursing corps. There's that oh-so-familiar buzz under her skin, the numb wall building up inside of her mind to try and protect herself from the hissing whispers inside that won't stop blaming her for every person she can't save. She never liked the person she became in the nursing corps — a coward, a failure, a nurse who was better with the dead than the living — and she hates this, hates all of this. It's drowning her, and she's only been doing this for a few hours. Pathetic. Useless. She shouldn't have even bothered—

But she's done. The next round of nurses and medics and doctors and surgeons — people who can actually make a difference — are arriving, and she doesn't have to stay. A voice hisses from inside her brain that she's taking the easy way out, that she's leaving when she could still try and do something, but Eve ignores it, dragging her feet as she walks. She wants to make it to her tent with the others so she can find her cot and pass out, but just the thought of interacting with more people has her skin crawling. Her tent isn't that far, but she imagines how much worse the ache in her feet will be with each step.

So Eve ends up behind one of the medical tents, back against a pile of crates. Her knees are pulled up, arms crossed overtop, and then her forehead rests there, her eyes closed as she breathes in, holds it, breathes out. The voice in her head won't stop, no matter how much she tries to silence it or ignore it, and she's so tired.

The tip of the stick digs into the cold mud, sinking in before resistance halts it. Zuss sighs, dragging the stick through the mud in a straight line. Thankfully, it's no longer raining, though the sky above is still an angry, churning gray. It rained for two damn days straight, and though Zuss hadn't been expecting any kind of break — especially from Pierson, of all people — he had still been bitterly miserable and complaining as much as possible. At least he hadn't looked like a sopping wet puppy that had just been fished out of a falling-apart cardboard box, like a certain redhead.

At the thought of O'Shea, Zuss's lips quirk into a lopsided grin. The puppy analogy had been pretty spot on, even if she hadn't agreed with it. Maybe he shouldn't have teased her about it, but it was worth it to see her composure start to break, a whine entering her voice as she pouted at him. Besides watching O'Shea punch the daylights out of Del and seeing her actually loosen up at the pub later, she's still the same stiff, awkward person he's known this entire time.

Seeing her start to thaw, seeing her actual personality start to break through? It's quickly becoming a goal of Zuss's, especially now since they're actually starting to become…friends? Zuss would say friends. He hopes O'Shea feels the same.

Which is why Zuss is waiting out here. He drags the stick around, forming a large circle in the mud. He should be with the others, changed out of his PT gear and getting ready for a night out in the nearest town. Training is done, and it's Friday. They still have their weekend passes. Zuss actually managed to not get his revoked for once.

But he's here, at the end of their course, sitting on a stump and drawing a frowny face in the mud as he waits for O'Shea. It had been the damn wall that had slowed her down this time, that and the stupid rope grid. One caught ankle had sent O'Shea sprawling, and she had been so flustered she ended up falling again. The wall had been right after, and she's been slower and more cautious with climbing the wall ever since the incident with Del, though she won't admit it.

O'Shea hadn't even been that behind. Sure, way slower than usual, but not horrible. Pierson hadn't even said anything — Zuss had been watching, irritation simmering below the surface — though he did level the redhead with one of his critical stares. Was it the look that had Eve jogging off to do the entire course again? Or was she that disappointed in herself? Another reason?

It hadn't felt right, leaving her all alone. Especially when Del hesitated as the platoon dispersed, a gleam in his eye before he disappeared with the rest of the men. The vets and the officers keep saying they're going to have to rely on each other and have each other's backs out in combat. O'Shea is one of them, and so Zuss waits for her.

He's pulled from his thoughts by the sound of footfalls in the mud. Zuss straightens immediately, perking up from his boredom and turning to look back at the course. O'Shea's running toward the end, not far from him, and her cheeks are flushed red with exertion, her eyes downcast and brow furrowed. Her eyes snap up when Zuss stands, though, surprise flickering over her face as she slows to a walk, trying to catch her breath as she joins him.

"You stayed?"

There's genuine surprise in O'Shea's voice, along with confusion and a touch of suspicion. Zuss shrugs a shoulder, tossing his stick back into the mud.

"Why not?" he replies. "Nothing better to do."

O'Shea scoffs as they begin to walk away from the course together, slower than usual as the woman still tries to catch her breath.

"Really?" she asks. "I think just about anything is better than waiting around in the mud for me on a Friday night. And I know you still have your weekend pass, so don't try and play that card, either."

Zuss places a hand on his chest and grins over at O'Shea. "Aw, you keep track of my passes for me?"

"Shut up, Zussman, I do not. You just make it a spectacle every time you do get it revoked, and you've actually somehow managed to behave this week."

"Hey, where's the fire?"

Robbie hops out of his foxhole, shivering miserably as the wind picks up. He doesn't turn back, though, braving out the bitter cold to join Eve, pressing his shoulder against hers and burrowing into his coat. Eve's eyes widen at first as he joins her, and then she rolls her eyes at the grin on his face.

"No, seriously," he jokes, "where's the fire? I'm freezing, angel!"

That gets a laugh out of Eve as they walk through the snow, small but still there. Robbie's chest warms at the noise.

"No fire, unfortunately," Eve says. "Just got orders for a patrol. About to go wrangle up the troops."

"Who're you taking?"

"My squad."

Robbie's grin fades. "Your squad isn't exactly…at full capacity."

"I'm bringing along a couple of replacements we got before we got locked in this frozen fucking forest," Eve explains, arms crossed firmly against her chest and her hands tucked away underneath her armpits to help keep warm.

"You should've asked some of us to go—"

"And drag you guys out for either a boring walk where we hope we don't accidentally stumble across the German line or for a needless skirmish with a Kraut patrol? No thanks. Besides, the rookies will never get broken in if we just leave 'em behind."

Robbie sighs, the air punching out of him. Lowering his chin to bury into the scarf Eve made for him, he blows hot air back into his face. Why does Eve have to be such a…such a sergeant about this?

"I don't like that you're going and I'm just…stuck here," he states, glowering down at the snow around them. It's midday, most men bundled up in their foxholes, a few passing them by as they try to keep their blood pumping.

"Are you saying you want to go on the patrol?" There's exasperation in Eve's voice now. "You hate patrols."

"I'm sayin' I don't want you to go alone."

Eve huffs as she stops, turning to face him with a frown twisting her lips. "Did you not hear me earlier?" she asks. "I just said I'm taking a squad. What's up with you?"

Robbie stomps his boots into the ground. "I just don't like when we're not together," he grumbles. "What if something happens? I'd rather be with you."

At his explanation, Eve does soften somewhat, the irritation leaving her face.

"I can take care of myself," she replies. "Besides, I'm more worried about you all getting hit by artillery while we're gone. You know we'll probably just go for a long, boring walk before coming back, but the artillery lately…"

They both shiver in the blistering wind. They're both silent for a moment, just the creaking and groaning of any trees still left standing passing by on the wind. Eve's eyes flicker across Robbie's face and he waits, resisting the urge to continue complaining.

"Do me a favor," she starts. "Why don't you just hunker down in a foxhole while I'm gone? Just in case there is any artillery."

That sounds like an excellent idea, but he's not going to admit that.

"Stop staring at me like that or I might just fall in love with you."

Stiles rolls his eyes as he walks past Zuss and Eve, on his way back from the bar with drinks in his hand. Why he is the one always sent as the pack mule, he will never understand. The rest of the group is at a large table in the far corner of the roadhouse they're in, but Zuss has been at the dartboards for the last fifteen minutes. Eve, of course, had followed him over to watch and cheer him on. Zuss must've just won his game, judging by the way he saunters back to where Eve is leaning against one of the wooden supports.

"We can't have that," Eve teases Zuss back, and then Stiles is past them, resisting the urge to roll his eyes again. When he reaches the table, Aiello mutters something about taking forever under his breath that Stiles opts to ignore. Hazel, however, sends him a beaming smile as she thanks him, taking a long drink from the beer he hands her.

"I'll pay you back later, Stiles," Daniels promises. Stiles slides back into his seat next to Hazel, trading a look with Aiello as she finally puts down the pint, now half empty. Stiles blinks owlishly through his glasses and Aiello's face is a mix of shock and awe.

"You know this is the first night in forever I've been able to actually relax?" Hazel says, grinning at their faces. "No late nights working, no worrying about Red, no dealing with the pregnancy, and now a break from the baby! I'm not wasting even a second of this!"

That gets a laugh from the two men, and then Hazel wrinkles her nose as she gestures with her head in Zuss and Eve's direction, fond amusement on her face.

"Those two sure are somethin', huh?"

Stiles huffs, taking a quick drink from his pint. "Yeah, it's hard to believe."

"What?" Daniels jokes. "That it took them so long to finally get together?"

Stiles jerks his head around, staring at the Texan with wide eyes. Daniels mirrors his stare, startled by his abrupt movement.

The sun is hot, the lake water is just a tad too cold, and the last thing Zuss expects is to see O'Shea of all people standing on the shoreline, a few steps away from the trees with Stiles by her side. He pauses immediately, getting hit with a face full of water by Aiello, curses spewing from his lips. Daniels is the next to spy her, and it's the both of them stopping that makes Aiello turn to see what they're looking at.

"You know it's an off day, right, princess?" Aiello snarks. "No training, nothing—"

"Give it a rest, Aiello," Zuss interrupts, splashing him for good measure. Looking back up at O'Shea — Eve, he thinks — he sends her what he hopes is a welcoming smile. They've definitely become a solid group over the past few months, but Eve still doesn't go off with them besides to the pubs, despite their urging.

"Stiles said you guys found a nice spot to relax," Eve says, crossing her arms over her chest as she looks around the lake. There's an old wooden dock a few yards from them, but despite that, it's fairly secluded, a little hideaway sheltered by the trees around them. It's barely a lake, more of a very large pond, but still. It's been so cold that Zuss wasn't even sure they'd ever be able to make use of the lake, but today the sun is burning, the air hot.

"He didn't say it was for swimming, though," Eve continues, sending the bespectacled man a look. He shrugs, already kicking off his shoes.

"I did tell you to wear your PT gear," Stiles replies. They are both in their PT gear, though Eve's still eyeing the water.

"C'mon, princess," Aiello goads. "Scared of a little water?"

Eve tenses as Stiles starts heading for the dock, a book in one hand. He's kept his shirt on, unlike Zuss and the others, who have opted to go shirtless in the water.

"If this is just your idea of trying to get me to strip to my underthings…" she starts, an edge to her voice, and Zuss straightens, offended at the insinuation. He's not the only one, judging by the way Daniels splashes forward.

"No!" he practically yells out. "We would never!"

The Texan turns back to glare at Aiello, and the New Yorker shrugs.

"What?" he snaps. "She's the one who said it, not me!"

Zuss interjects now, spreading his hands out in front of him. "Hey, you don't want to come in the water, that's fine! We'll just enjoy the nice, cool water, and you can sit out and roast in the sun with College…"

Eve's lips thin into a straight line, unimpressed by his words. He breaks, splashing at her with a grin, though she's still too far away to be hit.

"C'mon, O'Shea! Try it!"

The woman rolls her eyes, but she does start to remove her shoes, balancing on one foot as she tugs off her socks and tucks them back into her shoes. Zuss smiles, taking a step back so the water gets higher up his chest, and Daniels is wearing a similar expression of triumph at Eve deciding to join them.

"Maybe she's not such a stick in the mud after all— hey!"

Zuss's splash lands true, Aiello swallowing a mouthful of lake water and sputtering as he spits it out. Eve, meanwhile, starts heading toward the dock where Stiles is sitting, dangling his feet in the water as he reads. Zuss fights against a frown. He thought she was going to be joining them in the water, but maybe —

Daniels sucks in a sharp breath and turns around so fast he nearly slips and falls into the water. Zuss is a second away from mirroring him and averting his own gaze, but then he relaxes as he spies the tank that Eve's wearing underneath her shirt as she pulls it off and tosses it back on top of her shoes. For a second, he thought…but no, that's the last thing that he would expect O'Shea to do, especially after her tense quip earlier.

Zuss swings an arm around to smack his friend, electing to make fun of him instead. "Geez, Red. O'Shea just said to not expect any stripping!"

"But—oh."

The bigger man's shoulders slump down with relief as he peeks over and sees Eve still in her tank top and PT shorts, now standing at the end of the dock next to Stiles, clearly chatting with him about his book. It's endearing, in a way, how respectful he is about privacy, but also how absolutely smitten and steadfast Daniels is to his girl back home. It's a stark contrast from a lot of the other guys in their platoon, regardless of their relationship status.

But no, Zuss isn't here to think about the others and their idiocy. He's here to have fun.